


Heavy Drinking

by Dont_pester_lester



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: M/M, Wrenchers Fluff, wrenchers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2396450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_pester_lester/pseuds/Dont_pester_lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Numbers is most truthful when completely wasted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Drinking

One of the most memorable nights that Wrench and Numbers ever had together was the first time Wrench bore witness to Numbers drinking passed his general limit.

The two of them had stopped by a bar on the way home from a job. Stopping by bars was pretty normal, Numbers would usually suggest that they go for a celebratory drink- it seemed that killing a target always put him in a really good mood- but this evening was different.

When Numbers signed to Wrench that he wanted to stop at the bar, his signs were quick and curt. He seemed upset about something and Wrench didn’t feel like he was in the right place to ask about it.

Normally, it was one, two drinks at the most, and they would call it a night. Wrench would drop Numbers off at his apartment before heading off to his own. That night Numbers polished off his first glass almost instantly, and ordered a refill.

By the time Wrench finished his first beer, Numbers was on his third or fourth glass and clearly drunk. Wrench was watching Numbers with some concern. He had never seen him behave this way. Numbers was acting angry, but something about his body language made Wrench feel like there was a weighty sadness underlying it, not that he would ever ask.

The two of them had forged some sort of friendship despite the weird circumstances they had been brought together under, but they were not entirely close. Conversation stayed at a pretty surface level, but they got along well enough.

Wrench really liked Numbers, even though he was unsure of how Numbers felt about him. There was some sort of irony in how little Numbers liked talking, seeing as he had to speak for two people on a regular basis.

Wrench was painfully aware of the way he felt about Numbers. Never before had he taken to someone as quickly as when they had been partnered up. With anyone else as standoffish as Numbers, Wrench probably would have been rude or not tried to speak to them at all, but something about Numbers made him want to talk for hours.

Heck, Wrench should have been suspicious about Numbers learning ASL. People didn’t go out of their way to do something nice for anyone else in their business, unless they had an ulterior motive. Seldom before had anyone gone out of their way to learn even a phrase or two, but Numbers was picking up the language as a whole surprisingly quickly, and his interest seemed to lie solely in the two of them being able to communicate efficiently.

Numbers was throwing back drinks like the world was ending, and Wrench was watching him. He chose not to order another beer out of fear that the night would go sour.

Slowly, Numbers was starting to open back up, seem more relaxed, but Wrench was positive he still seemed sad about something.

By the time they left the bar, Numbers was delirious. He was having trouble remembering anything, especially ASL. Wrench was struggling to read his lips, and somehow managed to coax him out of the bar and into their car.

If they stayed any longer, Wrench feared they might have to find a new bar to go to, because Numbers would surely have made a scene. He realized that they barely made it out in time, when Numbers was already stomping around their car complaining about something. Wrench couldn’t tell what exactly he was saying because he kept pacing away from Wrench, throwing his arms around wildly with no reference to ASL.

Wrench thought he might have made out the phrase, “girls making eyes,” from his attempts to read Numbers’ lips, but that didn’t really make any sense to him, so he thought nothing of it.

Calmly, Wrench placed a hand on Numbers’ shoulder and led him into the passenger seat.

Once Numbers was safely strapped in, despite his complaints about feeling too restricted, Wrench started to drive him home.

He pulled up and parked outside Numbers’ building, and it took a moment for Numbers to realize that he was home. Even after he did realize, he made no sign of leaving.

Wrench waved his hand in front of Numbers’ face. He looked over and Wrench slowly signed, “You’re home. Go to sleep.”

Numbers huffed defiantly, sinking himself back into his seat and crossing his arms. “I don’t want to,” he said aloud, but clearly enough for Wrench to read his lips.

“You need sleep,” Wrench signed slowly, making sure that Numbers was watching all of his movements. 

“I’m not leaving this car unless you come with me,” Numbers sneered.

Wrench blinked in confusion, staring at his partner. Briefly, he considered arguing, but his curiosity got the better of him. He had always wanted to see Numbers’ apartment and there he was, inviting him up.

Slowly, but full of hope, Wrench signed, “You want me to spend the night?”

There was not a moment of delay between the question and Numbers blurting out, “Yes!” halfheartedly making the sign along with it.

Wrench struggled internally for a second. He felt like Numbers would never have wanted him to come into his apartment- his home, his sanctuary- without being absolutely drunk off his face, but Wrench wanted to go so badly.

It only took a second to convince himself that if he went up there it would just to be for the sake of making sure Numbers got to sleep safely and took was able to take care of himself.

Defeated by his desires, Wrench got out of the car and went to let Numbers out as well. He followed skeptically as Numbers led them to his apartment, and he was very pleased when Numbers managed to find and unlock his front door.

Numbers made a beeline straight for a cabinet full of alcohol. He poured himself and Wrench each a glass and placed them on the table. He motioned for Wrench to sit down, before practically falling into his own chair.

Wrench sat and took the glass in his hands with no intention of drinking it. He looked around Numbers’ apartment. It was a small place, but it had a surprising amount of decoration- mostly black and white photographs, none of which he could recognize the subject matter. The furniture was simple and black, and the place was very clean.

The only thing that popped out at Wrench was the bright yellow bag of Scrunyuns sitting out on the counter, rolled at the top with a chip clip keeping the bag from opening up. He refrained from laughing, but he did shake his head at the thought of how often Numbers made them stop to buy Scrunyuns, he really didn’t understand the obsession.

Numbers downed his glass and launched into a conversation with himself like Wrench had never seen. He was talking so fast that Wrench could barely keep up, but he stayed facing him, which made it a lot easier.

As far as he could tell, Numbers was whining about their last job and how much he had hated it. He didn’t enjoy any sort of job when they had to go out of their way to blend, or be subtle. He seemed particularly upset with the club they had gone to the previous night in order to find their mark.

Wrench couldn’t understand why Numbers was so upset. Sure, it hadn’t been his preferred modus operandi, but the job had been done relatively painlessly.

As time crept by, Numbers only seemed to get more and more drunk, even though he drank no more. It was as if he had forgotten about the alcohol completely. He kept talking himself into tangents, and Wrench could barely even respond, though he tried.

He had to admit, watching Numbers was incredibly entertaining. He was talking about things as miniscule as films he had seen as a child and others as big as current world news.

The time was reaching around four in the morning when Numbers started to look pale and sick. Wrench got up and rinsed out Numbers’ glass, filled it with water, and forced him to drink it. As an afterthought, he also grabbed the bag of Scrunyuns and tossed it to Numbers, hoping that it would help absorb whatever alcohol was still in him.

Despite his best efforts, it was only a couple minutes later when Wrench was standing over Numbers in his bathroom, rubbing his back soothingly as Numbers threw up.

Numbers flushed the toilet, and sat back against the tub. He looked terrible and Wrench wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms and comfort him, but he kept his distance. He crouched down and continued trying to sooth his sick friend.

A few minutes passed before Numbers’ next bout of sickness, but he seemed to feel relatively better after that one.

Numbers stood up by himself, and Wrench caught him when he faltered as he tried to leave the bathroom. He helped Numbers to his bedroom and made sure he was doing okay standing on his own before he went to peel back the covers on his meticulously made bed.

When he turned back around, Numbers had stripped down to his boxer shorts and Wrench tried his best not to stare.

Numbers must have noticed how welcoming his bed looked, because he stumbled across the room and clumsily fell into it.

Wrench tapped Numbers on the shoulder and asked if he was okay.

Numbers gave him a small nod in response.

When Wrench turned to leave he felt something tugging on his shirt. He turned back around to see Numbers weakly grabbing him.

Clearly exhausted, Numbers signed, “Don’t leave.”

“Just going to sleep on the couch,” Wrench signed back.

Numbers shook his head as vigorously as he could manage. He pointed to the other side of his queen-sized bed and signed, “Stay.”

Wrench hesitated a moment too long, and Numbers grabbed his arm. Forcing his eyes all the way open, Numbers said again, “Stay.”

Unsure of what else to do, Wrench removed his outer clothing, but opted to stay in his jeans and shirt. Carefully, doing his best to remain distant, Wrench got into the other side of the bed.

With great effort, Numbers rolled closer to Wrench and curled up next to him. Wrench dared not move, worried that Numbers would be sober in a couple hours and wake up thinking Wrench had done something that he hadn’t.

A couple minutes after Wrench had thought Numbers had fallen asleep, Numbers shifted to look up at Wrench, who was rather startled to see he was still awake.

“I hated those girls, you know,” Numbers said. He no longer seemed as drunk, more just exhausted.

Genuinely confused, Wrench asked, “Who are you talking about?”

Numbers groaned as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Those girls! Last night at the club, they liked you, and they kept looking at you. I hated them.”

Wrench blinked in confusion, but nodded his head slowly, pretending to understand.

Numbers groaned again, suddenly ramming his fist into the bed. “You don’t get it! I hated them because I like you, for Christ’s sake!”

Wrench froze. He didn’t know whether this was the true Numbers shining through or if he was living in some alcohol induced frenzy, but only seconds later, as if he had forgotten that he said anything, Numbers was fast asleep.

Wrench leaned over and turned the light off, not wanting his partner to wake up, but he lay awake, unsure of how to take this information.

Within an hour, Wrench had convinced himself that it was a fluke and he should think nothing of it. He should, though, try and get some rest. It had been days since he had slept a significant amount. Trying to make himself more comfortable, he stretched out an arm, accidentally coming in contact with Numbers. He went to correct his position, but Numbers readjusted his position in his sleep, snuggling further into Wrench, trapping the outstretched arm underneath his neck.

Wrench knew he should have made him move, but at this point he figured he should be allowed to have this moment, and enjoy it no matter how drunk Numbers was.

He finally fell asleep a couple minutes later.

The next morning, Wrench woke up empty handed. He looked around, confused about his settings until his mind got a grip on where he was and why he was there.

He trudged out to the Numbers’ living room where Numbers was withdrawn into himself on the couch, clutching a cup of coffee to his chest.

Numbers looked up at Wrench tiredly. He set the cup on his coffee table and signed, “Good morning.”

Wrench responded in kind as he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

Numbers rolled his eyes and gestured to the other end of the couch. “Well, come in and we can talk about last night. I’m sure you want to.”

Wrench moved with trepidation, but he went to join Numbers on the couch.

“Jesus, man,” Numbers mumbled aloud before signing, “You don’t have to look so sad, you’re not the idiot that confessed his feelings.”

Wrench perked up at that. Until that moment he had been sure that Numbers was going to tell him that none of it ever happened and he should just forget about it.

“Don’t look so shocked, nothing has to-“

“It was true?” Wrench asked, effectively cutting off Numbers.

Numbers’ eyebrows scrunched up and he stared at Wrench. “Yeah, what did you think? I was drunk so I was lying? Drunk people are more honest than sober ones.”

Wrench blinked a couple of times, staring at his partner with a slack-jawed expression.

Numbers raised his hands to sign something, but Wrench grabbed them, silencing him. A couple of cheesy lines rolled through his mind, as did the omission that anything he was about to do would be really cheesy, but he threw caution to the wind, leaned across the couch and caught Numbers’ lips in a kiss.

Numbers seemed caught off guard, but he sunk into it after a moment.

When he pulled away, Wrench was smiling and laughing to himself, but Numbers looked a little angry. Wrench raised an eyebrow at him.

“I have the feeling we could have been doing this for a while now, and I’m pissed that it took this long,” Numbers mumbled, still being clear enough for Wrench to read his lips.

Wrench just continued laughing until he leaned back over to claim another kiss. The two of them smiled softly at each other, and Wrench sat back, letting himself sink into the couch as he considered recent events. He laughed softly to himself again before turning to Numbers and signing, “Just never force me to hold your hair back while you throw up again.”


End file.
